


long ago and far away

by shuanime



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Drama & Romance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 05:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuanime/pseuds/shuanime
Summary: Prince Jisoo learned his royal duties.He is to marry a Duke of a powerful House for the better of his kingdom's people.Prince Jisoo has accepted his royal duties. He has vowed to himself that he, Duke of the House of Hong, will remain forever faithful to them.It takes an unlawful entry of a strange bleeding man through his bedroom window to ruin the perfect illusion.





	long ago and far away

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i'm back. 
> 
> with a 2ji fic. 
> 
> because i'm obviously a 2ji trash.
> 
> i just really needed to put this out here, and okay, i say this a lot, but I SWEAR this time i have plans to continue this. ONCE A WEEK. an update once a week. 
> 
> the royalty thing sounds really good. i (badly) wrote this earlier, it's unbeta-ed, too, so if there are confusing stuff or typos, just tell me about them!
> 
> alright here goes nothing...

 

 

 

“We have no time, and I mean _no time_ to dawdle,” Seungkwan frantically paces across the Prince’s room. “There’s only enough time before the Duke of the House of Kim sends their messenger to hand the seventh engagement present, and you have to be there, Prince Jisoo. You really, _really_ have to be.”

 

Even with the urgency in his equerry’s voice, Jisoo doesn’t look up from the letter he’s writing. His handwriting must be perfect. The pen glides smoothly on the gorgeous paper made solely for the use of him. However, he lets out a small chuckle at the other’s distress.

 

“Sit, Seungkwannie,” he bids, albeit light-heartedly. “And stop fretting. It’s going to be all right. Besides, what does the messenger need to see me for? Should he not be here just to deliver?”

 

The confidante stops on his striding tracks. “Well, of course, he will need to see you! He will need to see the perfect Prince of the House of Hong so that he’ll go home with only the thought of you.”

 

Jisoo’s gaze focuses on the loops of his writing, carefully maneuvering his hand in sync with his thought. 

 

“Am I going to be married off to a royal messenger, Seungkwan?” He asks without a hint of ridicule. “I don’t intend to put on a show for the Duke. He shall take what he sees with his own eyes, and the messenger is not one to make his decisions for him.”

 

_Most possibly, his family has heretofore dictated the marriage for him, too. Just like mine,_ the Prince almost says out loud, but he holds himself back because that’s the way he was taught.

 

“Indeed, Prince, but the Duke and his people must hear all pleasant things about you before the first meeting. He shall have great expectations.”

 

He stops writing, puts the pen down delicately next to the paper, and casts his advisor a sad smile.

 

“Only for him to be disillusioned when he finally meets me.”

 

“Oh, shush,” Counsellor Seungkwan tuts. He moves closer to the Prince, hand coming up to flick a strand of hair to a position. He then lets his hand touch Jisoo’s shoulder, lovingly patting. “You’re beautiful. Most kingdoms are willing to trade their whole domain for your hand.”

 

“That is,” Jisoo says as he breaks into a shy grin, “a shameless exaggeration. You are banished from this House!”

 

Seungkwan gasps playfully. “You would _not_ dare!”

 

And indeed, Jisoo would not dare. Seungkwan is more than a counselor to him. Seungkwan is his pillar of sanity—the only one keeping him together when he’s deeming all the well versed perfection as futile as his existence.

 

“But in all seriousness, no wretched thoughts should swim around in your pretty head for as long as I am alive. You’re exemplary, Prince. Don’t doubt yourself.”

 

The Prince offers him a smile. Small as ever but genuine. “Surely.”

 

He can always try.

 

“Very well,” the counselor claps his hands once and steps back. “I shall head to the seamstress to pick up your garb, and when I arrive I expect you to have already bathed and prepped as I have instructed the servants.”

 

“ _Yes, Your Highness_ ,” Jisoo jests. 

 

Seungkwan only rolls his eyes in good spirits, waves goodbye, and turns to leave the Prince’s chambers.

 

As soon as he was out, the heavy oak doors close with a snick, and Jisoo was left alone. The Prince indulges himself with a quiet sigh. And since he has his thoughts for himself, he wonders as he wishes. 

 

_What is it like to be free?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, the Queen of the House of Hong owes him as much as he owed her now, considering that he just—more or less—saved her life.

 

Or at least he’s trying to save her life.

 

That’s what Jihoon holds onto as he travels from land to land even in his state. He treads with fervor despite the bruises from falls and a huge gash across the expanse of his stomach that is bleeding profusely. If he doesn’t make it to the Queen soon enough, he might die of blood loss. Or worse, the hunters might capture him in this state, and by then his death is more than guaranteed. 

 

_The Patriarch’s men almost got him._

 

Looking up, he is greeted by gates. A series of gates and walls that are most likely kept under surveillance from the inside by armed guards of royalty. He can’t just barge in looking like a half-dead vagrant who bleeds from the stomach and demand to see the Queen. He’d get thrown in prison.

 

His plan is to go to her directly and tell her the threat to her life and to her son’s, but that plan is appearing to be a complication to his situation with the gates, the guards, the _looking-like-a-menace-to-mankind_ issue in the way.

 

The House of Hong is massive, easily covering half the plateau as it is, built with the royal castle at the top. It would be impossible to go through the gates and he is feeling a little discouraged thinking of the uphill. He might have to rethink the plan.

 

But in his peripheral, there, in a far view, is a huge redwood tree, the tallest of the bunch, with its thickest branch adjacent to an open window. Conveniently.

 

Not as convenient as he would wish since he would have to climb uphill and then climb the tree, but it is as convenient as something a god would grant a transgressor like him.

 

He gazes at the wound on his stomach covered by a makeshift bandage, blood soaking through it to his shirt. With the strain of walking, climbing, and traversing, he’s certain that if he lifts his shirt now, his guts would be protruding. It’s in numbing pain, but he bore it stoically the whole time he was trying to get here, and he will have to brave it all again just to get to that window.

 

He looks back from where he came from—the woods, the rocky paths—and he’s reminded of what he went through to get here, of reasons to persist. With a grunt through gritted teeth, he treks ascending to get to the tree.

 

He hopes, however, he hopes that the window stays open for long enough until he gets there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Would you prefer this window be shut?” Seungkwan asks him as the Prince enters his chambers, all set for bedtime.

 

Jisoo beams at his counselor who’s fluffing his pillows and, in common Seungkwan fashion, fussing over him again. Seungkwan looks tired under the polished demeanor—even more tired than the Prince himself. He figures that is so since the advisor assembles everything to help him fulfill his duty smoothly. Without Seungkwan, he would most definitely have a harder time.

 

“Leave it open,” he says as he sits on the chair to his study. “I like the night breeze. Go get some rest, Kwannie. You’re dismissed for the rest of the night.”

 

“You know you can’t dismiss me, right?” Seungkwan asks, making his way to the door. “That’s the Queen’s order to make. Seungkwan is un-dismissed.”

 

Whenever he speaks in the third person, Jisoo cannot fight off a snicker. “I know, but I’m letting you know you can do whatever now. Don’t worry about me.”

 

“I was only teasing,” the Counsellor chuckles. “Good night, Prince. Remember to close your window before you sleep.”

 

“Good night, Seungkwan.”

 

And he’s alone again.

 

Today was exhausting. Before his geography and mathematics lessons, the House of Kim’s royal messenger arrived and handed him the seventh engagement present from the Duke—a necklace with precious diamond stones embedded on silver refined to perfection. It costs quite the fortune if the Duke didn’t craft it and scoured the lands for the components by himself. 

 

But it’s not something Jisoo’s principled self could wear as it exhibits his position of power. His people deserve better.

 

It’s a majestic necklace. It would sure suit someone as grand as it is. If Seungkwan knew how he felt about the necklace, the advisor would have whacked him (the way a friend to another would) on the back, berating him of being ungrateful. And he’s right. Despite Seungkwan eventually understanding Jisoo’s sometimes self-righteous views as something inevitable bearing in mind the Prince’s goodwill, Jisoo is self-aware enough to know for himself that, indeed, he is not thankful enough.

 

He just really thinks he has more than enough of what he deserves. Quite frankly, he doesn’t feel like he has done anything to deserve any of this.

 

Granted, he’ll be selling his life and soul to the House of Kim for the common good, for the better of his people, but to Jisoo, someone stubborn as ever, it doesn’t feel _enough_. 

 

Is a marriage all it takes to deserve grandeur? 

 

Is that all?

 

How about the servicemen who dirty their hands for the protection of many? 

 

Or healers who school themselves with various knowledge to help the sick?

 

What do _they_ deserve? 

 

Nevertheless, Jisoo continues the letter he has been writing since early in the morning—a letter of sincere gratitude to the Duke.

 

For an hour or two, he works on crafting the letter with his impeccable cursive. He thanks him for the necklace and all the other impressive presents before that. He addresses him as Mingyu, just as the Duke wishes, and he treats him as a friend in his letters because the Duke of Kim is more comfortable with that—Jisoo, as well.

 

Prince Mingyu writes the most cluttered letters Jisoo has ever received. He writes in untidy scribbles and tells the oddest stories from the time he snuck out of his castle with only a cloak and a block of cheese to find his pet rat in the forest to the time he got caught stealing empty wine bottles from the cellar because he was trying to create a chandelier out of these materials— _at midnight_. Jisoo finds him interesting and fun to talk with through letters. In return, he tells Mingyu stories of how his day went. Bland, uneventful, filled with lessons of all sorts to make a Prince a prince, and Mingyu shares the same laments as him except he could be rebellious while Jisoo would rather stick to what the Queen thinks of him: obedient and faultless.

 

Even so, he will never tell Mingyu of what he thinks about the loveless marriage. Mingyu sounds more than warm and pleasant, and Jisoo will be damned if he breaks the royal man’s heart in any way. 

 

He ends the message with a neat sign of his name and scents the paper with Rose, the signature fragrance for all of his letters. 

 

But oddly enough, in the middle of stamping the wax seal, he hears suspicious rustling from his window.

 

Not just any kind of rustling that a squirrel or an owl or even wind can replicate. It’s rustling that gradually becomes louder… rustling coupled with… grunts?

 

Sliding the chair back, Jisoo stands to check on the noise. Princes are equipped with years of swordsmanship training and battle prowess so they can fend for themselves when the instance asks for it. And although all Jisoo does during training is pout at the weight of the sword and mope when the soreness settles in his muscles after the workout, at the very least he can defend himself for a while until he can scream for help if a thief or an assassin make their way to his bedroom. 

 

Don’t get him wrong; he’s so terrified he might wee-wee in his pajama pants.

 

So when a human head pokes through the open window, it catches him off guard and Jisoo freezes and fills his lung with air, ready to scream for Seungkwan and the guards’ help.

 

But the head swiftly becomes a whole body of a man who’s smaller that Jisoo and obviously bleeding. Clearly, the man is fast—faster than Jisoo could ever be— and in a split second, Jisoo finds himself pinned to the wall with a strong hand on his mouth. He’s flailing and trying to scream, but the small man’s grip around him prevents him from doing anything, his voice muffled as if he’s underwater. 

 

Nobody can hear him.

 

He’s going to die.

 

His mother will be very sad if he dies.

 

There will be no marriage, no alliance.

 

The House will fall.

 

He will die in the hands of small window bloody man who can be attractive if he bathed and wore decent clothes that are not soaked in blood.

 

“ _I won’t hurt you_ ,” the man says through gritted teeth. “Promise me you will not make a sound, and I’ll let you go.”

 

Jisoo, feeling light-headed now with the amount of force the man is exerting against his mouth and nose, can still note how the man looks too pale for his strength. He can’t focus on anything but the fact that he can’t breathe, so he tries to nod his head as best he could and lifts his pinky up in the air weakly. 

 

The man frees him at the sight of his raised pinky, and they both drop to the floor, Jisoo panting while the stranger groans with a pained expression.

 

The man is covered in blood, hurt in every way. The Prince can see the bruises now that he’s up close. They are bright purples, yellows, and greens. Nasty. But he has the upper hand. 

He can knock this guy out with a paperweight, perhaps, and then call the guards to throw him into prison.

 

Instead, in typical Jisoo-fashion, he exclaims almost immediately, “You’re hurt! We should get you a healer. We should call—“

 

“Shh,” the man shoots him a glare that sends a chill down his spine. “Don’t make a noise.” He looks around the room and then back at Jisoo, and declares, “You’re the Heir.”

 

“I-I am.”

 

The man maneuvers himself, leaning his back against the wall he pinned Jisoo against just mere seconds ago. “Well then, _Princess_ , listen closely—“

 

Jisoo gasps, offended. “Don’t call me _that_!”

 

The man smirks, but it turns into a grimace when he shifts his body upright. “Be quiet, Daisy. Go get the Queen. Don’t alarm anyone. Tell her Jihoon is here.”

 

“I can’t just tell my mother that! She’s resting. It’s the middle of the night.”

 

Jisoo is as frantic as he never thought he could get.

 

“Just go,” the man, who may or may not be the Jihoon he’s talking about, commands with a sneer. “If you want your mother safe, tell her I’m here. Jihoon.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jisoo finds himself scrambling on a flight of stairs, desperately trying to quietly get to the Queen. He doesn’t know what prompted him to run—the desire to get out of danger as soon as possible or the word _safe_. 

 

_Why does his mother need to be safe? She is perfectly all right._

 

The worst thing the wounded man in his room could do is bleed to death or steal his physical crown and other belongings, and he would rather not have a dead person in his chambers.

 

He knocks thrice, and when he doesn’t get a response quick enough, he disrespects the Queen by barging in, uninvited.

 

His mother looks up from the books she’s reading, the disappointed smile on her face stinging Jisoo square in the chest, but he brushes the feeling off.

 

“ _Mother_ ,” he starts, voice quivering in a fearful whisper. “A bleeding man is in my room.”

 

The Queen rushes to his son, hands cupping the Prince’s face and mother’s instinct urging her to inspect him for any signs of injury.

 

“Oh, dear! Are you hurt? Have you called the guards!?” In her panic-stricken manner, she calls out, “Guards!”

 

“No!” Jisoo immediately holds his mother, shushing her before help comes. Wide eyes filled with distraught, he says, “No, mother. The man asked me to not alarm anyone.”

 

“What are you talking about—“

 

“ _Jihoon_ ,” Jisoo finally rasps out through his frenzy. “The man says he’s Jihoon and he told me to get you.”

 

His mother fell silent, panic bubbling down. Her eyes, dazed and weary, expresses a deep concern as she stutters, “J-Jihoon? _Bleeding_?”

 

Before Jisoo could confirm, several guards came bursting in the Queen’s chambers asking what was wrong, and with a flick of her hand, the Queen dismisses them immediately. 

 

Jisoo feels lost. He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t question. He obeys when his mother says _take me to him_ , he obeys when his mother tells him to go to Seungkwan’s chambers as two guards haul Jihoon—gently, as his mother ordered—to bring him to the healer. Jisoo is lost, but he lets it happen.

 

He’s alone in his room, the smell of blood filling his nose.

 

His mind is steeped in questions, in doubts he cannot seem to discern.

 

It’s all too much. He needs somebody. 

 

He needs Seungkwan.

 

Of all the times Jisoo only wanted to be alone… Tonight he just cannot be.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i'm sof aka shuanime on both [twitter ](https://twitter.com/shuanime) and [curiouscat ](https://curiouscat.me/shuanime)! 
> 
> feel free to tell me your thoughts on the comments. feedback is really, very, super, mega appreciated. thank you!


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